"Locke! Kids!"
Jonathan spotted them through the café window and waved warmly.
Martha quickly stood, hurrying outside with a bright, welcoming smile.
"Children!"
She opened her arms, hugging Clark first before turning to Dio.
"You must be starving. I ordered your favorite—"
"Pancakes with maple syrup," Dio cut in, a flicker of anticipation flashing in his eyes before his face quickly returned to its usual haughty composure.
"Not that I'm very hungry, of course."
Grrr~
But his stomach betrayed him with a loud rumble.
Martha covered her laughter, pretending not to notice, and gently patted Dio's shoulder.
"Come in, then. The muffins are still warm."
Standing aside, Locke watched the scene with a faint smile tugging at his lips. He turned to Jonathan.
"These two troublemakers are in your care for now. I've got to go meet someone to check out the corn and oats at our farm."
"Brother." Jonathan nodded firmly, clapping Locke's shoulder with gratitude.
"Really, thank you."
Clearly, over the years Locke had always helped promote Jonathan's crops whenever he sold his own.
"We're brothers—no need for thanks," Locke chuckled, lightly punching Jonathan in return.
"In that case, I won't pretend anymore." Jonathan leaned closer, lowering his voice conspiratorially.
"Lunch is on me. I've still got a little stash of pocket money left."
"..."
It was common knowledge that Jonathan's "secret stash" never survived longer than three days before Martha sniffed it out without fail.
But since Jonathan had gone this far, Locke played along with a wink.
"Then I'll make sure to eat you broke."
Locke turned, got back in his truck, and drove toward the location he had arranged with Anthony.
Just then...
"Hey, aren't you supposed to be inside eating?"
Locke glanced back at the truck bed helplessly. Dio's blond hair was blowing in the wind, right in his line of sight.
Dozens of minutes later, the old Ford rattled toward the town's second entrance.
Locke narrowed his eyes at the sight ahead—streets decked with flags and bright decorations.
Banners fluttered in the breeze, storefronts draped in festive ornaments, even the lampposts wrapped in ribbons.
"Did the Kansas Ravens win a game or something?"
Puzzled, Locke turned to Dio in the passenger seat.
The boy was elegantly flipping through a hardback book, and at the question he didn't even glance up—just gave a dismissive snort.
"How should I know?"
"Strange," Locke mused. "Aren't boys your age supposed to like football?"
"Ha."
Dio snapped the book shut, his crimson eyes glinting with disdain.
"Only gorillas like Clark would enjoy such a barbaric sport."
Locke was left speechless, tightening his grip on the wheel as he silently pulled the truck up to the arranged meeting spot.
There, Anthony was eagerly greeting a sharply dressed man.
"That must be the big boss," Locke muttered, studying the figure carefully.
The man wore a perfectly combed slick-back, sharp eyes gleaming like a hawk behind gold-rimmed glasses. Every gesture carried that mix of elegance and aloofness unique to high society.
"Dad, that man..."
Locke stiffened. "What is it?"
"His watch," Dio whispered. "It's a limited-edition Patek Philippe—at least two hundred grand."
Locke sucked in a sharp breath. That was two years of farm profit right there.
"Is that the point? And how the hell do you even know Patek Philippe?" Locke swatted his son's head, exasperated.
"Don't tell me you've been sneaking peeks at my Playboy magazines again?"
"No, only Clark would be curious about that kind of thing," Dio argued.
"Hey! Why is everything Clark's fault? Is that fair?"
"Dad, I told you—I was just checking fashion trends. I'm not interested in those heavy-makeup girls."
"So you admit you were looking, huh?"
"?!"
Before Dio could protest, Anthony, who was nearby, noticed them and immediately trotted over.
The shrewd middleman was dressed in a brand-new suit today, tie knotted perfectly, even his usually scruffy beard neatly trimmed.
"Locke! Finally, you're here!"
Anthony clasped Locke's arm warmly, then glanced at Dio standing to the side. With a knowing smile, he asked, "And this young gentleman is…?"
"My son, Dio," Locke said curtly, his eyes already drifting toward the sharply dressed man nearby.
Anthony caught the hint immediately and guided them forward.
"Mr. Luthor, this is Locke Kent—the man I told you about, one of our finest farmers."
Luthor?
Locke's pupils shrank.
A Luthor… with hair?
Instinctively, he glanced at the man's head. Thick blond hair gleamed in the sunlight.
That… didn't look like a Luthor at all.
"Dad," Dio nudged him with an elbow, pulling him out of his daze.
"Ah—sorry." Locke quickly noticed the man's outstretched hand and stepped forward to shake it.
"I'm Locke Kent, and this is my son, Dio Kent."
"Lionel. Lionel Luthor."
"A pleasure to meet Kansas's finest farmer." Lionel smiled graciously, unfazed by Locke's slip, then reached behind him to pull forward a slight, frail-looking boy.
"And this is my son, Lex Luthor."
There's the real deal.
Locke smiled faintly, his gaze curious as he studied Clark's future nemesis.
The boy looked about ten, with sparse blond hair and a pale face half-hidden behind oversized round glasses.
He shrank timidly behind his father like a frightened quail.
Hmm... I can't see even a hint of a future supervillain.
"This child…" Lionel gave a small apologetic smile. "He got frightened by some turbulence on the helicopter ride here. Please don't mind him, Mr. Kent."
Dio's crimson eyes narrowed, a glint of curiosity flashing as he studied his peer.
Sensing that stare, young Lex shrank even further behind his father.
"No problem," Locke said gently. "First time flying is always nerve-racking. Dio's first time on a tractor scared him half to death too."
"Dad!"
Dio's face flushed bright red.
"Hahaha!"
Lionel let out a hearty laugh.
"Children will be children. Speaking of which, Mr. Kent, I've heard your farm—"
"Father…"
At that moment, Lex spoke up timidly, his voice barely louder than a mosquito's buzz.
"Could I… could I go play with Mr. Dio first?"
Everyone present froze.
Mr.?
Dio arched a brow, lips curling in satisfaction.
Yes—he liked that title.